


Choke Me Like You Hate Me

by halfmetalbitch



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Avenger Reader (Marvel), Dickmatized Reader, Dominant Loki, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Forced Orgasm, Hate Sex, Humiliation kink, Orgasm Denial, Penis In Vagina Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Supe Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:55:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28601031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfmetalbitch/pseuds/halfmetalbitch
Summary: Loki has escaped and you pursue him. When you catch him, the fight gets a little heated.
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 219





	Choke Me Like You Hate Me

“Stop right there.” Your voice echoes in the cavernous room.

Loki’s footsteps halt on the metal grate beneath his feet, his back to you. He lifts his hands into the air innocuously, turning slowly toward you. He offers you that sharp, irreverent grin that you despise so much.

“What a good little blood hound you are,” he says, lights from the panels along the hallway illuminating his face in shades of blue, green, red.

You take a step toward him, and he takes a step back.

Loki clicks his tongue against his teeth, wagging a finger at you. “You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?”

“I didn’t think it would be particularly difficult,” you snipe back at him.

His brows furrow, his hand going to his chest. “You wound me.”

Violence rises in you, that desire to _hurt_ that came as easily as breathing, drinking, living. “Not _yet_ , I haven’t.”

That wicked grin is back. “Do you promise?”

You leap for him, but he blinks out of existence in a flash of blinding green light. A hand grasps your ankle and dumps you unceremoniously onto the ground. You twist, linking your leg around his too fast for him to avoid, and _squeeze_ until he loses his balance and tumbles down right along with you.

You haul your body over his, press him into the cold metal beneath you. Too easily, he rolls on top of you, gaining the upper hand, but you use your momentum and roll once more. The two of you are so close to the end of the walkway now, its edge tapering off into nothingness for as far as you can see, so deep that you can feel the pit beneath you sucking you down into it. If you fell, there would be no coming back from that for either of you.

You grasp his throat, squeezing, scratching, strangling as he bares his teeth up at you. You’re stronger than most humans. Not as strong as the genetically engineered super soldiers in your group—your powers are natural, evolution-given. But you’re strong enough that he grits his teeth in pain, strong enough to keep him down.

His magic yanks at you and you sprawl across the ground, giving away the advantage of your leverage, and he swings his body over yours. He pushes you into the floor with his full weight and you can feel all of him against you, the steel of his chest, his hands bruising you, the sharp knife points of his hips against your thighs, the hardness of him against all the softness of you.

You gasp, tipping your head back. Such a terrible, sinful sound leaves you that it even gives him pause above you. He stares down, his hair a mess, his eyes bright with battle, or with an idea so horrible you don’t want to fathom it.

You pray he’ll ignore it and maybe throw you from the walkway into the abyss below, but you have no such luck.

“What was that?” he asks in that infuriatingly mocking way of his, an eyebrow quirked. “I didn’t quite hear you.”

He pushes against you again and you suck in a desperate breath, your legs spreading wider so that more of him touches more of you.

“Get off,” you growl.

He snorts. “Interesting choice of words.”

The way he touches you is villainous. The feeling of his body against yours evil. He’s so close you can feel his breath against your bared throat. You should be afraid, should be angry, should despise him. But you don’t feel any of those things in this moment, all else swallowed up and burned away by the fire ripping through you.

His warm hand slides up your side, into your shirt, then under your pants, and you don’t stop him. But you should, you _should_ , everything screams at you that you should.

You bite your lip as his hand sinks further, to more sensitive skin, then pauses at the apex of your spread thighs. His lips part as he feels the wetness there. You stare up at him with guilt and shame, and him down at you with amusement.

“Oh, really?” he asks, and you glare.

He rubs his middle finger in teasing circles around your most sensitive spot. You breathe hard, try to hold everything in, refusing to make a sound for him. His gaze is intense as it meets yours, rising to the challenge.

You bite your lip, hard, as you fight against the unbearable tension coiling within you, the desperate need for more, more, more. Blood pools in the corner of your lip, and you lick it away with the very tip of your tongue, his eyes tracking the small movement.

“Beg me,” he says, voice graveled and deep now.

You whip your head from side to side. You refuse to beg. Refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing an Avenger begging for release from _him_. It’s shameful, humiliating, degrading.

He smiles as though he knew you would deny him.

The movement of his fingers languishes, slows to a torturously unhurried pace that makes you grit your teeth together. Then his finger slides wetly against the right spot. And he must see the fear, the need, quicken in the facets of your face, because he homes in on the one place and worships it in a way that would make you disintegrate if only there were a bit more friction.

Your brows furrow, every cell and atom of you shrieks and you can feel it coming apart—your resolve, your dignity, your pride—in a wild unbraiding of reality until the word bursts from you.

“ _Please_.” You gasp through clenched teeth.

He smirks down at you with utter triumph.

He slides middle and ring finger into you, and the sound that leaves your mouth is so lewd that even Loki’s gaze darkens with intoxicating lust. He curls his fingers, thumb tapping against the sensitive flesh at the apex of your thighs. You throw your head back against the hard metal beneath you, hard enough to hurt, and close your eyes against the onslaught of pleasure.

A painfully strong grasp pulls down your chin, and your eyes open.

“Look at me,” he commands. “I want you to remember it was I who made you feel this.”

And with a few more thrusts of his fingers, the coil within you snaps and releases. You gasp and scream, clawing at Loki’s chest as you fall apart beneath him with such excruciating pleasure you’ve never felt before.

He watches your face as you shudder and jerk, the crease between your brows, the baring of your teeth, the wrinkle of your nose, the lushness of your parted lips, and leans in so closely, so reverently, that you’re sure he will kiss you. He pulls away before he does.

He lifts you with surprising ease, and it dawns on you how strong he actually is. So strong that it seems he had held back all those times you’d brawled before. But he doesn’t hold back now as he moves you to straddle him and holds your body trapped between his and the wall.

There’s darkness in his eyes, something like hatred and spite and bitter vulnerability shining back at you from his gaze. And you wonder what he sees in you as you rest in his arms, fucked into benign pliability already.

You feel his freed hardness prodding against you, and you gasp in anticipation. There’s no hesitation, no regard for you, as he plunges himself punishingly into you. You clench around him, whimper and moan at the stretch. He groans sinfully and rests his forehead against your exposed throat.

You wonder at how just ten minutes before you’d been the one with him pinned beneath you, your hands around his throat, and now he was fucking you so thoroughly that you would be ruined for anyone else after it. Any of the others could walk in at any moment. Could discover you here, pressed against the wall, split in half and reduced to begging for your enemy.

But as Loki pumps his thick cock into you, you couldn’t bring yourself to care about anything beyond the several inches that connected the two of you.

He slams into you with violent abandon, ragged gasps warming your ear. Already so close, you sob as you’re forced to tumble over the edge again, already so spent and nearly blacking out from the second wave of overwhelming pleasure.

At your clenching and unclenching, he shudders and spills inside you with a broken gasp. The sharp pain of broken skin drags a cry from you as he sinks his teeth into the space between your shoulder and vulnerable throat, but it only heightened your pleasure.

Loki drops to his knees, spent, and you slide down the wall with him, both of you leaning tangled against each other and trying to regain your breath.

Slowly, the world around you begins to exist again, beyond the feeling of his skin against yours, his body against yours. You swallow thickly as you realize what you’ve just done. And as Loki looks at you with something akin to horror in his eyes, you imagine he’s having the same realization.

You dislodge yourself from his lap and stand on shaky legs. Your muscles are shredded apart from your sparring session with him and your subsequent coupling, and your knees nearly buckle under your weight.

It’s Loki’s hand that catches you, and you glance to where your hands meet, at how close you are now. There’s no promise of violence between you anymore, only something softer. Something you didn’t expect, don’t understand, don’t want.

You wrench your hand away, straightening your rumpled clothing. You swipe a palm over the bite mark on your neck, wincing at the streak of red blood that comes away.

You spear him with your gaze, find him staring at the blood staining your palm.

“You should go,” you tell him.

He had been trying to escape, after all. And now you can’t imagine returning with him in tow, your body bruised from his fingertips, your most delicate parts pummeled into submission by him, your skin marked as belonging to your enemy.

How could you hide this from the other Avengers? Natasha would sniff you out—quite literally—in an instant.

Loki doesn’t step away from you, and you glance up at him expectantly.

“Well?” you ask, impatient, waiting for him to flee as he always does.

He holds out his hands in front of him, palms up in supplication, ready for the restraints you keep on you.

“Take me back,” Loki says.


End file.
